the
door,' quoth Maria, conclusively.

'Did you go to St. Matthew's?' again interrupted Phoebe.

'Yes, Bevil took me. It is the oddest place. A white brick wall with a
red cross built into it over the gate, and the threshold is just a step
back four or five hundred years. A court with buildings all round,
church, schools, and the curates' rooms. Such a sitting-room; the floor
matted, and a great oak table, with benches, where they all dine,
schoolmaster, and orphan boys, and all, and the best boy out of each
class.'

'It is a common room, like one at a college,' explained Phoebe. 'Robert
has his own rooms besides.'

'Such a hole!' continued Bertha. 'It is the worst of all the curates'
sitting-rooms, looking out into the nastiest little alley. It was a
shame he did not have the first choice, when it is all his own.'

'Perhaps that is the reason he took the worst,' said Phoebe.

'A study in extremes,' said Bertha. 'Their dinner was our luncheon--the
very plainest boiled beef, the liquor given away and at dinner, at the
Bannermans', there were more fine things than Bevil said he could
appreciate, and Augusta looking like a full-blown dahlia. I was always
wanting to stick pins into her arms, to see how far in the bones are. I
am sure I could bury the heads.'

Here, seeing her mother look exhausted, Phoebe thought it wise to clear
the room; and after waiting a few minutes to soothe her, left her to her
maid. Bertha had waited for her sister, and clinging round her, said,
'Well, Phoebe, aren't you glad of us? Have you seen a living creature?'

'Miss Charlecote twice, Mr. Henderson once, besides all the congregation
on Sunday.'

'Matter-of-fact Phoebe! Perhaps you can bear it, but does not your mind
ache, as if it had been held down all this time?'

'So that it can't expand to your grand intellect?' said Phoebe.

'It is no great self-conceit to hope one is better company than Maria!
But come, before we fall under the dominion of the Queen of the West
Wing, I have a secret for you.' Then, after a longer stammer than usual,
'How should you like a French sister-in-law?'

'Nonsense, Bertha!'

'Ah! you've not had my opportunities. I've seen her--both of them.
Juliana says the mother is his object; Augusta, the daughter. The mother
is much the most brilliant; but then she has a husband--a mere matter of
faith, for no one ever sees him. Mervyn is going to follow them to
Paris, that's certain, as soon